THE ADVENTURES OF BARNACLE THE BARSTOOL
OOC: Here's a little something I cooked up to amuse my
fellow PermMid rp'ers... I'm just a little bored and decided to make this up.
Nerissa says she is OK with this, but I leave this for the other two admin if
they don't like it...It became semi-IC after I made some changes to the original story which was a
post of mine in a different rp (that turned out to be a venting zone for
sexually repressed teenagers... *shudders*). Hopefully, you'll enjoy this as much as I did in writing it and my friends in
reading it. Without further ado, here it is, The Adventures of Barnacle the Barstool (Part 1)!
For most sentient beings, life begins a frenzy of frightening sounds and
blinding light. Bedazzled in the splendor of a metropolitan hospital, they cry
their first greedy demand for air, nourishment, and a good belly rub.
(Of course for some, this is a daily occurrence broken only with the
intermittent desire for catnip and a chewtoy.)
For the ignomius barstools, life generally begins in the ACME Alcoholic Funiture
Factory south of the greater city of New York (2).
(Until one evil day when the plant was shut down by the evil management. In
an epic story truly befitting Disney, the valiant workers led by Joe Ludd
converted the plant into a pasture where he and his fellow employees worked
until the end of their days.)
For a soon-to-be famous sentient barstool, life began not with the hospital amid
gawking onlookers or the grinding of the ACME Alcoholic Furniture Factory. Life
began in the sleepy drunken haze of the Entrophobic. A little known bar just
across the street from its cousin the Entropy. Although the Entrophobic is small
in size and number of patrons, it has remained relatively prosperous from the
spillout of the neighboring Entropy where it is a daily occurrence for would-be
patrons to be turned down and kicked out.
It is in this bar that, perchance, a stray blast of transmorgrifying magic from
a drunk Fey introduced the out of way little barstool to life. Moments passed as
the small barstool mused about his new found intelligence and the slowly setting
oily stain upon him.
His silent musing are quickly interrupted as a portly old fellow decided to rest
his sweaty feet upon the newly self-aware barstool.
Naturally, being born and bred from the gritty bar of a most motley selection of
patrons, the young stool knew nearly every obscene word in more than 100
languages (including several not found on Earth).
50 or so came out in the span of about 5 minutes drawing the attention of even
the drunk knocked-out chaps in the darkened corners of the room.
Several moments of silence passed until finally the portly old man managed to
utter: "By Blistering Barnacles! A talking stool!"
The young stool blushed. Or came close to blushing if it wasn't for the rather
one sidedness of his colour. Never had he been the centre of attention unless
during a rather nasty bar fight when he was used as an improvised weapon.
A second awkward silence followed as the collective brains of nearly every race
of creature in the world pondered upon the wonder of the talking stool. For a
single collective moment, 'get rich quick' schemes of all sorts danced across or
at least stumbled across the minds of nearly everyone in the room.
(As was the case with some of the patrons)
Sensing the sudden change in the crowded bar, our fine young barstool performed
a feat that was quite beyond anything an object of similar quality has ever
done. He made a dash for the door.
The tiny clattering of his feet were quickly drowned out by the shuffling sound
of nearly every greedy patron in the room. Each trying to catch this wonder of
wonders in hopes of gaining some yet unclaimed wealth in the world.
By strange luck and, more likely, plain stupidity, the myriad bedazzled patrons
slammed against each other as they pushed and shoved towards the escaping
A single creak came with a resounding slam as the door announced the exit of the
tiny stool to the confused and bewildered group of patrons.
Disappearing in a nearby alley and the cold night, the barstool gained a chuckle
from the Fates.
Were the small stool to have tarried for just a moment longer, he would have
seen that he single handedly started the largest bar fight in recorded history,
which consequently led to the demise of several human and Chimaera nations whose
dignitaries were unlucky enough to be caught in the fighting.
But, as the fight began, the small stool was already far away enough to hear
only the rustling newspaper and the clanging of neglected garbage cans in the
In the silence of the night, our young barstool once more pondered upon his
newfound life and even newer freedom. In the ritual of all sentient creatures,
the barstool looked up at the quicksilver moon, as the first ape and Chimaera
did, and he named himself.
"Barnacle... I like the sound of that... I believe that that is as good a name
as any... yes..."